He’d almost forgotten, and had in fact been in the works of dropping into bed like a fly hit with pesticide. Maybe not the best analogy, but the action was a close enough resemblance. He’d made no effort to fix the disarray of his hair (caused by his lack of maintenance that day) when he’d left his bed to open the door, and so he felt a bit under-dressed for the occassion–

He allowed a pregnant silence in which he weighed the possibility of bad-mix alcohol/ice cream (along with whether closing the door to go back to bed was considered rude), but threw caution to the wind as he replied, opening the door wider;

“Come on, don’t just stand there- we can play games while we drink.”